Chapter 6: Double Team Revelation
The engine cut to a gentle purr, then silence, swallowed by the stillness of the hidden cove. Marcus had steered them not toward the distant resort beach, but into a crescent of pristine water, walls of emerald rock rising around them. The anchor splashed down.
“Thirsty?” Noah’s voice was casual, as if this detour was routine. He was already moving toward a small cooler. “One quick drink. The ride back is choppy.”
Marie’s eyes darted to Marcus at the helm, but his back was turned, his attention on securing the lines. The intimacy of the cave still clung to her skin, a secret dampness between her legs that had nothing to do with seawater. “Alright,” she heard herself say. “One.”
She found herself on the aft deck, perched on the edge of a plush cushion. Noah handed her a chilled bottle of local beer, the glass sweating instantly in the humid air. He sat opposite, stretching his long, muscular legs out, the thin fabric of his black swim trunks doing little to conceal the heavy rest of him. Her gaze, against her will, snagged there. The memory of its outlined shape against the blonde’s throat was seared into her mind.
“See something you like, Madame?” Noah’s tone was light, but his eyes weren’t. They pinned her.
She flushed, tearing her eyes away to the turquoise water. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” He took a slow drink. “You watched. In the cave. You had a perfect view.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. “I didn’t. I was… looking at the rock formations.”
A low laugh escaped him. “Bullshit. You were glued to it. I saw your face. You watched every inch of my cock disappear down that girl’s throat. Your mouth was practically open.”
“It wasn’t.” The lie was weak, brittle.
“Marie.” Marcus’s voice, from the helm, was flat. He’d turned, leaning against the console, his arms crossed. “He’s right. I saw you too. You couldn’t look away.”
The betrayal in his observation felt like a slap. “Marcus, please.”
“You want it,” Marcus said, his voice stripping away any pretense. “You’re attracted to him. To… that.” He nodded toward Noah’s lap. “It’s written all over you. The way you flush when he’s near. The way you look at him when you think no one’s watching.”
“I love my husband,” she whispered, the declaration sounding hollow in the face of her own treacherous physiology.
“This has nothing to do with love,” Noah said, his earlier charm hardening into something more direct. “This is about that hungry little cunt of yours, dripping since you stepped onto my boat. Since you saw what I’m working with.”
The crudeness winded her. She stood, her legs unsteady. “Take me back. Now, please.”
Noah was up in a fluid motion, crossing the deck before she could take a step. He caught her wrist, not roughly, but with an inescapable firmness. “You don’t really want to go back.”
“I do.”
“Your body says otherwise.” His other hand came up, cupping her cheek, then sliding down the column of her neck, over the thin strap of her swimsuit top. His thumb brushed the swell of her breast, and a traitorous jolt shot through her. “See?”
“Stop.”
He didn’t. His palm molded over her breast, his fingers finding her nipple through the fabric, rolling it until it stiffened painfully. A whimper escaped her. His other hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the formidable heat and rigidity of him through both their suits.
“So fucking responsive,” he murmured into her hair, his voice dropping to a gritty whisper. His hand delved lower, slipping inside the back of her bikini bottom, over the curve of her cheek, then around to the front. She gasped, trying to arch away, but he held her fast. Two thick fingers pushed past the elastic leg band, sliding through her folds with an unerring, shocking intimacy.
They came away glistening.
He brought his fingers to her line of sight, the evidence shimmering in the sun. “You call this loyalty?” he growled. “This is a waterfall. This is a pussy begging for a real cock. My cock.”
Shame and desire warred, a nauseating cocktail. She had no defense. Her own moisture betrayed every word of protest.
With a deft motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his swim trunks and pushed them down. They pooled around his ankles. He stood before her, fully, blatantly exposed.
Marie’s breath caught. Seeing it outlined was one thing. Seeing it in the stark, sun-washed reality was another. It was thick, veined, and absurdly long, curving upward from a thatch of dark hair. The head was a broad, smooth plum, already beading with moisture. It looked both impossibly erotic and faintly terrifying.
“On your knees,” Noah said, the command leaving no room for debate.
Her mind screamed. Her body moved. The teak deck was warm against her shins as she sank down. From this vantage point, he was monumental, the sheer size of him blocking out the sun. The salt-and-musk scent of him filled her senses.
He placed a firm hand on the crown of her head. “You’re going to suck it. And you’re going to do a better job than that giggling blonde.”
He gripped himself at the base, his fist barely closing around the girth. He brought the broad, spongy head to her lips. It was hot, almost feverish, against her mouth.
“Open.”
Her lips parted, a small, reluctant oval. He pushed forward. The head was too wide, stretching her lips painfully. She made a small, choked sound.
“Wider, princess. Take it.”
She strained, her jaw aching, and he pushed in another inch, the head popping past her lips. Her mouth was instantly, overwhelmingly full. She gagged, her eyes watering.
“Easy,” he said, his voice a rough caress. He didn’t retreat. “Use your tongue.”
Tentatively, she flicked her tongue against the slit, tasting his pre-come, salty and stark. Encouraged by his low groan, she traced the prominent vein on the underside, then, as he slowly withdrew an inch, she ran the flat of her tongue along the entire exposed length, from root to tip. The skin was like velvet over steel.
He let out a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Good. Now get it wet. Really wet.”
She obeyed, lapping at him, coating his length with her saliva, the act itself a dizzying depravity. Each lick, each suck on the very tip, was a hammer blow to the fragile sculpture of her marriage. And yet, a deeper, older part of her awoke, thrilled by the sheer debasement, by the raw proof of his power and her own submissive hunger.
He watched her, his dark eyes hooded, gauging her every flinch and flutter. After a moment of her timid ministrations, he pulled himself entirely from her mouth.
He looked down at her, her lips swollen and wet, her eyes wide and swimming with conflicted tears. He tilted her head up with a finger under her chin.
His question was soft, but it echoed in the silent cove, more threatening than any shout.
“Think you can take it all? Or will you choke and cry like she did?”